The Teahouse Tutor
by Crave Kashmir
Summary: Tea is ruining Sirius Black's life. He went to a fancy whorehouse to keep from embarrassing himself in front of the demanding girls at school, but now he's having inappropriate thoughts about his friend, following the advise of a prostitute and sitting through tales of debauchery as told by a blue-haired old woman. It's all tea's fault. Worst stuff ever invented, tea. Sirius/Remus
1. Chapter 1: Actions

A/N: To anyone following me over from my usual HP stories, the online comic I've thrown into this crazy mix is Teahouse. If you are over 18, you can go read it at teahousecomic. com (no space before the com, obviously). There is swearing, there is sex, there is angst. I love it. If you are not over 18... you shouldn't even be HERE. Go read something T. Go on, shoo!

* * *

The Teahouse Tutor  
Or: Actions & Words Speak at the Same Volume  
Chapter 1: Actions

The sensuality of the building had to be part of his imagination. It was a building made of brick and wood and metal; there couldn't be anything particularly alluring about it, he reasoned. Still, as he stood on the pavement debating whether he would actually dare to enter, he studied the place.

The trim surrounding each window was painted off-white with the slightest of pink undertones, implying skin that rarely saw the sun. The upper-level windows were not sharp and squared but curved like a human body. The entrance was set back into an arched alcove; from the ceiling hung a lantern made of metal heated and hammered into impossibly delicate curves, which curled and tightened before exploding into what might have been exotic flowers or possibly fans. Above the alcove, two parallel panels of marble inlay lead to a semi-circular frieze; larger than life human figures reclined and sat in barely-there togas and dresses of draped fabric that clung to ever curve.

Even if he did not know what the building was, he would have thought it sensual.

Jaw set, he marched across the street and pushed the door open. There was no sign out front, but everyone knew the place was the Teahouse. It was an institution even among his elitist circle, a house that served Muggles and wizards alike. No bell signalled the opening or closing of the door. It would not do to announce to the street that a customer had arrived; that would have been far too attention-getting. Instead, a young woman stood by the door and greeted him with a bow,

"Good morning, sir."

"'Morning," he replied uncertainly.

"If you'll follow me," she said and walked from the foyer into the grand entrance, a room of opulence enough to put even his circle to shame. Polished marble floors, sparkling crystal chandelier, two sweeping staircases with thick blue carpet running their entire length. The marble floor was dotted by rugs direct from the Orient. It was all expensive without being ostentatious. She gestured to a chair, leather, worn to a comfortable state but not to the point of being shabby. "If you will wait a moment, sir, I will summon the owner."

He sat. It took all his effort not to bolt for the door. The thought of meeting the owner was a bit too much like being brought before the Headmaster, but he shook his head and cursed at himself. What had he expected, to walk in and be bombarded with offers as he was at school or the dark, quiet corners of those wretched social events he was always made to attend? Of course he would have to negotiate with the owner.

"I am Mr Atros. Good morning, Mr Black," a man greeted him with an outstretched hand. "Or would you prefer an alternate name here?"

Sirius smiled. "I'm guessing a pseudonym would provide little cover for me, even here."

Mr Atros nodded ever so slightly, his dark hair barely moving with the motion. "Your name and reputation are safe inside these walls," he paused, his eyes studying the boy from below his thick brows. Despite the business in which he had found himself working, Xanthe Atros did have some scruples, if only in matters that might affect the authorities finally taking note of his little Teahouse. "Forgive me, Mr Black, but I have to ask: You aren't yet of-age, are you?"

Sirius did not flinch or avert his eye. His every birthday was the fodder for the _Daily Prophet_ society pages as his mother arranged galas so large and expensive, they had become more prestigious than the Muggle Queen's garden parties. It was no surprise Atros knew who he was or even how old he was. "I don't see what difference a year or two makes."

"The customer is always right," Atros agreed. "I trust our anonymity out there will be held in equally high regard as yours is here."

"Your secret is safe with me," the boy assured him.

Atros did not reply to Sirius and for a moment he thought he was going to be kicked out, but the man nodded over his shoulder to a woman he had not noticed. She was dressed just like the one who had ushered him to sit down, in a simple black dress with a crisp, white apron. The woman pulled on an ornate band of fabric that hung from the wall. It was a bell-pull of the old style. Sirius only knew this because as she pulled the fabric a bell began to ring, low yet sonorous.

"The bell signals a house-wide lineup," the man informed him and gestured for him to follow. "You will have your choice – men and women."

Sirius frowned. He hadn't expected men, but he said nothing, not wanting to come across as ignorant or inexperienced. Though, in truth, it was his inexperience that had brought him here; he had always drawn attention for his looks, but lately girls had been more forward, shoving him against walls and claiming his mouth, their hands roaming his body in ways that had him wanting to scream for more. He was determined to show these girls just what he could do… just as soon as he knew what it was that he could do. He was only fifteen, and had never done more than kiss and fondle a clothed breast.

Atros lead him from their quiet waiting area to the grand entrance, where six men and women had already assembled into an orderly line. They were a motley bunch, hardly the refined elegance he had expected from the room in which they now stood. The line was bookended by a woman from an Edwardian painting, all white ruffles and crinoline, and a punk, his bare feet filthy and face pierced. Neither did anything for him, so he paid little attention as Atros introduced them by name. Instead, he focused on the less off-putting people in the middle, a short ginger who looked more nervous than him, a plump woman with a great set of breasts barely contained by her dress, a tall man with a wicked glint in his eye and a flat-chested woman.

"Rory, Claret, Mercutio and Linneus," Atros said as they walked passed.

Claret was very tempting with her huge breasts, but Sirius kept looking at Linneus. The woman was beautiful, fine-boned and delicate despite being almost as tall as he was. There was something off about her. Her chest was beyond flat. It made him take note of the rest of her. The shoulders were a hair too wide, the hips that much too narrow. "Are you…?"

"I'm a man," Linneus said simply, though even his voice was lilting like a woman's.

Sirius had to step back and rethink this. He had never thought of intentionally choosing a member of his same sex, but the only one he really wanted to pick was Linneus. "In for a Knut, in for a Galleon," he muttered to himself and took a steadying breath. Forcing himself to stand a little taller, he looked the beautiful man in the eye. "If you're free."

"I am," Linneus said with a nod.

Without another word, the others dispersed, some grumbling at having been passed over, others with a twitter of amusement that a member of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black should swing that way. Sirius barely heard them as he followed Linneus up the stairs.

He paused in the doorway to the man's room, knowing that if he entered there would be no turning back.

"Would you care for some tea?" Linneus asked.

Sirius glanced between the bed and the circular table where the effeminate man now sat. He couldn't help the chuckle. "I know this place is called the Teahouse, but I hadn't actually expected tea."

"We are courtesans here," he replied, sounding almost indignant. "If _that_ was all you wanted, you should have wandered down some side-alley to find a prostitute."

Flinching, Sirius dropped into the chair opposite and took the tea the courtesan had made. Looking at him over the china, he could see that Linneus took that job description seriously. He wore more jewellery than a sultan's concubine. Five necklaces hung from his long, white neck. His ears were nearly invisible beneath countless golden hoops, studs and dangling jewels. Even his face wasn't safe from the gold invasion. Twin chains ran across his forehead; they drooped with the weight of an embellished stone, which fell between his eyebrows and drew all the attention to his enormous blue eyes.

"What do you think?"

Sirius blinked and flushed with the realisation that he had been staring. "Your clients must really pay you well if you can wear that much wealth."

Linneus smiled indulgently. "They do, but these," he indicated the gold and semi-precious stones, "were all gifts."

"You don't seem that impressed by them."

"I wear them because it is expected. What I find beauty in most clients would think pedestrian and common."

"Try me," Sirius said, leaning back and crossing his arms. Something about Linneus made him comfortable; for all his exotic decoration and impossible beauty, he reminded him of Remus, soft-spoken even as he cut you down to size.

A long, thin finger reached out and gestured to the bouquet of roses at the centre of the table. Each one was at the height of their bloom, full and open and uncommonly perfect. Linneus caressed the soft, velvety petal of a rose nearly as pale as him. "Roses. I grow them in the garden."

"Nothing wrong with that," he replied. "My mother's as pureblood as they come and she couldn't keep anything alive without someone else to do it for her."

"She keeps you alive."

"Like I said, she couldn't keep anything alive without someone to do the work for her, her children included. And that hardly counts since we're at school most of the year." He stopped and cringed. The owner might have known his true age, but he somehow doubted if any of the courtesans here had bothered keeping up with the wizarding society news.

"I thought you seemed a little young," Linneus commented and sipped on his tea.

"Doesn't matter."

"It does if I'm arrested for defiling a minor," he said with a faint smile. "Most of my indiscretions could probably be overlooked, but I doubt they would forgive me that little crime."

Sirius laughed. "My mother would never risk it getting into the papers. You'd be fined and nothing more. I'd get worse than you. Believe me."

The man's eyes dulled for a moment as if remembering something unpleasant. "The rich do seem rather quick to harm their own children. I've known Mr Atros since we were children. I lost count of how many bruises he was given and generally for no real reason."

"I think I'd welcome a bruise," commented the boy. "Wizarding families have considerably more options open to them than a simple backhand."

Linneus studied him a moment. "Yet you risk coming here?"

"It's what I do," Sirius shrugged.

"Then we had better make it worth your while," he said. "Since you are putting yourself at such a risk coming here." He stood and Sirius felt a momentary panic before he reminded himself that this was why he had come to the Teahouse to begin with. Sure, he had intended it to be a woman approaching him now, but the act was the same. The partner was experienced and could teach him all he needed to know to keep his reputation intact.

On the off-chance his family did find out about this indiscretion, his partner was still a whore, someone sure to send his mother into a spitting rage. Actually, the fact that it was a male whore would do the job even better.

As he sat, partially paralysed by his thoughts and fears, Linneus rounded the table and leaned down, kissing him. He tasted nothing like any of the girls he had kissed at school. After the shock of sugar that lingered on his tongue from the intensely sweet tea, there was the taste unique to him, like the bouquet of a fine wine, subtle and complex. It tasted almost like the roses smelled. Despite the absolute pleasure he was so eager to immerse himself in, he found his mind wandering, wondering if everyone had a unique taste and if they fell so neatly in with what each person enjoyed. Would Remus, who loved chocolate, taste like the confection even if he had not been eating it?

'Why the hell are you thinking about Moony when you have a male courtesan attached to your face?' he demanded, and forced the thought away.

Moony would not be moved, despite the boy's best efforts. As Linneus pulled him to stand, Moony stuck firmly in his thoughts. As he brought him to the bed and started to undress him, Moony was there. As he kissed his way down his chest, it was Moony performing the action.

"M—" Sirius bit painfully down on his lip, keeping the name where it belonged and not out in the open.

"M?"

"M…more," he managed to say. "More."

There was a look in the blue eyes of the courtesan that said he wasn't fooled, but Sirius was too busy noticing that they were the same shade of blue as Moony's eyes to much care what the man thought. Then he was licking a place no other mouth had ever been and every thought vanished in a fog of red desire. He groaned and let his hands tangle in the hair and chains of the man's head, urging him on, begging, in his way, for him to never stop. As Linneus continued, words spilled from Sirius's mouth, though he had no idea what he said, but there was likely a lot of pleading and some promises he would never have made if he were not intoxicated by the man's skilled mouth.

The last of their clothes fell away and Sirius was kissing him, savouring that subtle rose flavour and wishing it was chocolate instead. He pressed the man into the mattress and felt the soft, white skin, wishing it was transected by scars. He buried himself inside the man, wishing he were someone else entirely and hating himself for even thinking it.

Over an hour he spent simultaneously loving and loathing what he was doing to Linneus and having done to him by the courtesan. It was the most glorious thing he had ever experienced, but every time the thought of his friend entered his head, he was certain a part of his soul died. It was wrong.

"Worried?" Linneus asked as he curled himself against Sirius's naked chest.

"What?" the boy started, shocked from his anger and self-loathing by the question. "No, why should I be worried. It's in my head. Moony will never know."

"Actually, I was talking about your family."

"Oh… bugger," Sirius clenched his eyes tight. "Sorry."

"You're not the first to imagine the person they love when sleeping with someone else," the man assured him. "Besides, you called that name."

"I did? H-how many times?"

"_Several_."

"Fuck. I'm sorry."

"I'm not offended… well, maybe a little," he smiled softly. "Tell me about him. This Moony."

Sirius groaned, a pained sound completely opposite to the rapturous noises he had been making minutes before. "He's a friend," he admitted. "One of my best mates. We've been friends since we were eleven. I don't know when I started thinking of him as anything else. I didn't think I did, but it just popped in there."

"You've probably always wanted it, but couldn't place the emotions. I know the feeling. It's hard being so close and not being able to touch what you most want."

"Yeah," he sighed, the weight of his want suddenly pressing on him. "What the hell am I supposed to do when I see him? I've just spent the last hour imagining you were him."

"Tell him."

"Hell no!"

"Lie to him, then."

"He's too smart for that," he groaned and grated his palms over his face, feeling the barely-there stubble. "Stupid, clever twat, always knows when I'm lying."

Linneus smiled.

"What?"

The man shook his head and landed a serious of kisses on his chest so light they felt like ghosts. "If words won't help you, perhaps actions will."

"You want me to walk up to him and kiss him?" Sirius balked, imagining the werewolf's outrage and disgust.

"I was thinking something a bit more subtle."

"I've never been very good at subtle," he admitted.

"I'll teach you," Linneus said and stood, pulling on a dressing gown and gesturing for him to stand.

Sirius stared at him, confused and almost laughing. He had come to the Teahouse to learn how to have sex, but it seemed he would get a tutorial in a lot more than that. "You're going to teach me how to seduce him?"

"I'll teach you how to be subtle. What you do with that knowledge is up to you. Sit."

The boy sat in the chair he had occupied some time before, the tea still in his cup long since cold. He waited for the lesson begin, but the courtesan said nothing and Sirius took to playing with the china for lack of anything else to do. Then Linneus was there, leaning over his shoulder, pressing bodily into him with just enough pressure to make his breath hitch.

"Lean in behind him," the man said quietly, his talented, soft lips skimming the shell of his ear as he spoke. "Allow your lips to brush his ear when you whisper secretly in class."

Sirius swallowed audibly and nodded, too affected to speak.

Linneus set his hand on the boy's shoulder. It was comforting, but he began to feel the warmth of it and knew it had rested there too long. "Let your hand linger on his shoulder, an innocent enough touch between friends."

He nodded and released the breath he had been holding hostage in his lungs as the man finally moved the hand from his shoulder. He thought it was done, but Sirius felt that hand brush his cheek as Linneus reached over his shoulder and took the teacup into his hand. "Let your hand brush against him," the courtesan advised. "Accidentally touch his hand or leg as you walk beside him. Graze his face ever so gently when you reach for something. These are such small things you probably do them now without even noticing, but done intentionally and frequently with a tiny, knowing smile and the meaning changes. They are easily overlooked by someone without feelings, but if your friend starts to blush and stutter, you know he's yours."

It took another minute, but Linneus stepped back and walked around to his seat at the table.

"They teach you that at courtesan school?" Sirius questioned, trying to put on his cavalier mask and failing completely. He was still shaken by the attention, but also trying to imagine Remus's clever words failing him when he tried any and all of the man's subtle gestures.

"Something like that," he smiled over his own secret thoughts. "From what I've seen of you, Sirius, you could win your Moony inside a month."

The boy's grin turned wicked. "Two weeks."

"Now you're just bragging."

"No, I'm betting. Two weeks."

"I don't gamble," Linneus said with something of an eye-roll, though it was so delicate it seemed almost a glance skyward, an appeal to the heavens for strength. "Hearts are too tender for such things, and I've broken enough of them in my short time on this planet."

"I don't doubt it," Sirius hopped from the chair.

"Come back if you need more help with your friend."

Sirius grinned. His giddy optimism was quashed slightly by the crass business of money, but his mood lightened as he glanced from the window of Mr Atros's office. He could see Linneus's roses, perfect in every way. The rich green foliage punctuated by flowers in various states of bloom, their colours ever-so-slightly varied from bush to bush, all pink, but none the same. Linneus really was a master of his craft.

Sirius all but ran down the street, determined and set on winning the boy. Despite what the courtesan had said, he would win or lose Moony within the next two weeks. He moved through the dingy pub and brick archway, making a beeline for the bookshop. Remus was nothing if not predictable. He could always be found among the books. While clever and not averse to reading, Sirius really did not understand what the boy saw in shelf after shelf of dusty old books. It would be as good a topic as any to begin his campaign of subtle innuendo against his friend.

He found Remus leaning against a bookcase near the back of Flourish and Blotts, his shoulder resting on a shelf, one leg crossed casually before the other, looking as comfortable and rumpled as he ever did. He was nothing to look at compared to the courtesan. His jeans worn thin and tee-shirt washed to a faded ghost of its former colour, no jewellery in his hair or ears, no rings on his fingers or bracelets on his thin, white wrists. Merlin, Sirius loved his wrists; how had he never noticed them before? Biting back a groan, he strode forward, leaning against his friend's back to peer over his shoulder.

"That looks boring," he commented quietly, his lips brushing the shell of his ear.

Remus jumped at the contact and the unexpected arrival. "Jesus, Padfoot!"

"Jumpy."

"Well, you startled me. What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were going to visit that whorehouse," he rolled his eyes, clearly thinking it a stupid plan. "Get kicked out when they realised you're not even sixteen yet?"

Sirius just shrugged, knowing that if he lied Remus would know the truth and likely hate him for it. "Thought I'd come see you. What do you see in these things?"

"Information," his friend offered as if it were obvious. "Some of us like to learn new things."

"I like new things," he insisted, trying hard to keep his mind from wandering back to all the new things he had experienced that morning. If all new things were like that, he would happily immerse himself in the unknown until the sun died and the Earth cooled to the core.

Remus narrowed his eyes at him, studying the subtle blush of his cheeks. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," he insisted, reaching past him to pull a book from the shelf, letting his hand brush against his jaw as if by accident. Remus did not move away as the back of his hand slid lightly over his cheek on the return journey, though his eyes remained narrowed in suspicion.

"You did something. I just know it."

Sirius opened the book and pretended to skim the words, offering no verbal reply. His eyes danced back and forth as if reading, but he saw not a single letter. His mind was too focused on Remus, his reaction, or lack thereof, to his touch. He had not blushed or stuttered as Linneus said he might, but he had not pulled away or shouted at him for the intrusion. He had no idea what that meant, but he had two weeks to find out.

He stayed with Remus the rest of the day, keeping himself a fraction too close the entire time, leaning in whenever Moony commented on something in his books or when he wanted to tell his friend something. Everything he said was done quietly, as if it were a secret, so that he could press himself against his friend and whisper against his ear. For all the touches of his lips, hands and body to the boy, Remus acted no differently. It was irritating. Sirius thought for sure he ought to have said something by the time they were done in Diagon Alley and parted ways.

"Doing anything tomorrow?" Sirius asked as Remus moved to leave.

"No, just reading," he shrugged.

"There's a thing I'm trying to get out of," he said. "Give me an excuse."

Remus smiled knowingly, the tilt of his lips verging on a smirk and making his stomach flip, "I need to go to Muggle London for my mum. Want to come with?"

"Oh, if you insist," he said with a mocking sigh. "Damn, mother will be ever-so disappointed that I have plans and can't visit my cousin's house for tea."

"Git," Remus muttered before strolling away, his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, pulling the fabric tight across his backside. Sirius stared for a minute longer before turning around and leaving through the pub's fireplace.

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2: Words

The Teahouse Tutor  
Or: Actions & Words Speak at the Same Volume  
Chapter 2: Words

"It isn't working!" Sirius groaned and threw himself onto Linneus's bed. "Your subtlety stuff is absolute rubbish!"

"It's only been four days," Linneus said as he closed the door, a look of concern on his face and something bordering exasperation in his voice.

"Exactly!"

The courtesan sighed and sat down at the circular table to make himself some tea, adding even more sugar than he normally did to brace his nerves for the boy's skewed sense of logic. "What have you done?"

"Everything you said," he groaned and sat up, looking dejected. "I lean into him and brush against him and whisper in his ear and all that rot. All day, every day for the past _four days_. And nothing. He acts like I haven't done anything."

Frowning, Linneus sipped at his tea. "He doesn't respond at all?"

Sirius shrugged. "Mostly, but sometimes he acts like I'm up to something."

Delicate hands still holding the cup, he turned his eyes to look at the boy, studying him in a way he had not yet done and making him shift uncomfortably in the long silence. Sirius knew perfectly well how he looked, and what people always assumed when they saw him; half of what he did was done because people expected a boy of his appearance to behave a certain way, visit to the Teahouse included. Linneus seemed to gather as much, because he said, "Forgive me, but what exactly is your reputation?"

The boy looked away, mumbling, "I kind of play around."

"Ah," the courtesan said and took another sip.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He offered the boy a stern look over the rim of his teacup. "I think you know."

Sirius slumped and glowered. "But he's my mate, he knows me better than that."

"Does he?"

"Yes!" he insisted without pause or thought. As the man said nothing, Sirius had no choice but to think about it. Did Remus know him better than that? Or had he put on too good a show? "…maybe he doesn't."

"You should let him in."

"Did you let yours in?" Sirius demanded, annoyed and angry and desperate to lash out at someone. "Whoever it is you're so close to but can't touch. Did you let them in?"

"He's known me almost my entire life," Linneus said sadly. "He knows all there is to know. If he chooses someone else, it's because he doesn't want what I have to offer."

"Fuck. I'm sorry."

The man laughed lightly. "You say that so often around me."

"Because I'm an idiot around you."

"Perhaps you should try being an idiot around him instead. It's quite endearing."

Sirius blushed. He couldn't help it. "Uh… thank you…?"

He smiled into his teacup at the boy's uncertainty. "Maybe we should practice."

"You're not that much like Moony," he hedged, uncomfortable baring any more of his private thoughts and feelings to someone who was essentially a stranger to him.

Without a word, he set down his tea and began pulling the gifts from his hair and ears. Within minutes, he was simply a beautiful man with startling blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair. His clothes were finer and more feminine than Remus would ever have cause to wear, but they were easily overlooked. "Now?"

"Closer," Sirius admitted.

"What is your friend like?"

"Like you," he said, rising and pulling a book at random from the courtesan's bookcase. "He reads a lot and tends to keep quite. He's got opinions, but he doesn't mouth off about them. He usually talks only when he thinks he'll be of value to a conversation or plan. He's brilliant, though. He once plotted an entire month of pranks with contingency plans and worst-case scenarios… it was the only time we never got caught in four years of pulling pranks."

Linneus accepted the book from the boy, a gentle smile taking over his face. "You think very highly of him."

"Well, yeah."

"Have you ever told him that?"

"Uh… well, not as such. Not directly. I tell him he should plan more pranks… well, I tell James that he ought to have Moony plan more pranks… bugger, I'm rubbish at this."

"Try it now," the courtesan said, adjusting his posture and looking down at the book as if he had been absorbed in it for hours. Sirius blinked and stared at him, unsure of his approach and thinking this all rather stupid. This wasn't Moony, how could he properly express himself as if he was? In the dim light, however, he did look a bit like his friend. The lines of their face were not so dissimilar. The colour of his hair looked darker than it truly was and was closer to the sandy blond hair that always fell into Moony's eyes as he read.

"Uh, Moony," Sirius said quietly.

"Hm?" Linneus glanced up from his book, his blue eyes looking just as Remus's did whenever anyone interrupted him while reading. As Sirius struggled to find his right words, the man even glanced back to the book as if marking his place mentally before turning back to look him in the eye, something Moony did every time.

"I don't think I ever told you… uh… how much I appreciate your plans…" he paused, certain he was saying the wrong thing. "I told James we should have you make up all our pranks from now on, you're so brilliant at it. I mean, when you stuck Professor Gamble's desk to the ceiling that was fantastic. Remember when Wormtail tried the same thing with Professor Flitwick and got detention for a month? I bet if you had planned it, he could've actually managed it. I hate that you might think we don't appreciate you…"

"What about you?" he asked, his voice so quiet Sirius thought it really was Moony.

"I appreciate you. Probably more than I should."

"What do you mean?"

"I… I kind of love you, Moony," he laughed. "Merlin, I sound like a girl, but it's true."

He jumped when Linneus spoke again.

"I would avoid that last part if I were you, especially the laugh. You're trying to convince him that you _aren't_ joking, remember?"

He groaned and buried his hands in his hair. "I know that. But I can't talk to him like that. He'll hex me… or laugh at me."

The courtesan stood and brushed his hand purposefully down the boy's face. "If you mean it, he will do neither."

"Blimey, you're good."

oOo

"Moony," Sirius all but shouted as he marched across the cobbled street toward him.

The boy rolled his eyes and did not adjust his pace to wait for his friend. "What is it now?"

"There's something I need to say to you," he declared as he fell into step, but the words dried up in his mouth as he looked at the boy beside him. Did he really want to risk losing him? Remus had overlooked everything he had done so far, but he could not ignore a blatant confession of love.

As the silence stretched on, Remus stopped moving and waited. They stood for uncounted minutes as Sirius struggled with himself. "Any day now, Padfoot."

"Oh shut up, I'm working on it."

"If you're planning on confessing your undying love, could you just get on with it? I've got stuff to do," Remus said impatiently and held up his school list. "The new Defence teacher wants a mountain of books and I have to hurry before all the used copies have gone."

"Don't rush me!" Sirius barked, too annoyed to have registered what he had said. "This isn't the kind of thing I'm used to doing and I want to make sure I get the words right."

His friend rolled his eyes. "Sirius, it's really not that complicated. You look me in the eye, say 'Remus, I fancy you' and kiss me," he demonstrated, leaning in and brushing his lips against his friend's. "Easy. You make things so complicated. This is why your pranks always fail."

"They do not always fail!"

"Department of Games and Sports," he said flatly.

"One little oversight," Sirius grumbled.

The boy crossed his arms defiantly over his chest, his blue eyes sparking. "And what about Operation Undies? The Niffler Incident? Miming Michaelmas? Dumb Dikkery? Need I go on?"

"Oi! The Niffler Incident was so not my fault and bloody hell you just kissed me." His mouth fell open.

"Well spotted," Remus replied with a smile so near a smirk Sirius could not stop himself going weak-kneed. The boy laughed, "You are such a girl."

"Shut up," Sirius growled. "Does that mean you fancy me, too?"

The smirk pulled wickedly at the corners of the boy's mouth. "Well, I fancy you. I didn't actually think you felt the same. Thanks for letting me know for sure, though I do wish you had said something sooner; all those subtle touches were a little hard to sort out. Where on earth did you learn all that?"

Sirius flushed. "I… well, there was… uh… You see…"

"You went to the whorehouse after all," Remus realised. "She must not have been very good if you came chasing after me the same day."

"He's brilliant!"

"He?" the boy stared in naked disbelief, leaning in and poking his chest and cheek as if testing that he was really Sirius Black and not some disturbing hallucination, "You willingly slept with a man?"

"What? He was pretty… and had your eyes…"

"Oh, stop right there. Don't want to hear any more. Keep your whorehouse exploits to yourself if they're going to involve someone else playing me." He waved his hands in the air as if the mental images might be physically thwarted off.

"He only pretended to be you when I was trying to sort out how to tell you I fancied you," Sirius insisted.

"You are so useless," Remus sighed. "Why would that require a whore?"

"Courtesan," he corrected.

"Whatever."

"Because I'm rubbish. Completely useless. You saw how I bollocksed up his subtle touching thing."

Remus stared at him a moment before shaking his head and sniggering. "Is it wrong that I actually want to meet this man? Call it a perverse sense of curiosity."

"He's nice."

"He's paid to be nice."

"Cynic," Sirius grumbled.

"Realist," Remus corrected. "So where is he, this 'courtesan' of yours?" He glancing around as if the Teahouse might appear by magic to any who sought it. "Well?"

Sirius stuttered out his reply, pointing and giving directions, which the boy followed immediately, leaving Diagon Alley and heading left down the pavement at a pace so fast the Animagus was jogging to keep up. This seemed a very bad idea. World-ending, universe-splitting bad, but still Remus kept walking until he turned a corner and stopped so abruptly that Sirius ran into him.

"Oh, hell," Remus muttered. "My Great-Aunt Louisa lives just down this street."

"Come on, Moony, what are the odds that you au—"

"Remus?" a shaky voice called and they spun around. A crooked old woman of at least seventy years stood just behind them, her hair in tight curls tinted faintly blue and her skin so old it had passed wrinkled into near-baby smoothness. "I thought that was you."

"Aunt Louisa!" Remus cried nervously, smiling and kissing the woman on the cheek. "What are you doing out?"

"I had my hair done," she said and patted the curls with a claw-like hand hidden inside a lace glove. "Now I'm off for tea."

"Tea is good," he replied quickly. "You go have your tea. I wouldn't stand in the way of tea."

"Nonsense, you must come with me," she slipped her arm through his and began to pull him down the pavement. For all her seeming frailty, she was surprisingly strong and quite determined. "Afternoon tea is never the same without someone else. The poor dears have been foisting employees on me since Margery died last year, and I can't imagine any of them really care for my old stories."

"Of course," the boy agreed, reaching back and taking hold of Sirius's sleeve, hissing, "This is all your fault."

For the sake of their potential relationship, Sirius thought it best not to reply. He followed along behind the pair of Lupins, watching as the sensual Teahouse drew ever closer. A question struck him, one he had never bothered to entertain before this moment: Why was a brothel called the Teahouse? Looking at the aged woman on Remus's arm, he wondered if she had once lived in a time when the famous whorehouse really did serve tea. As the woman slowed, he got his answer.

"Here we are," she said and shuffled into the arched alcove with its art nouveau lantern overhead. "I've been coming here since I was first came to England. I was only trying to fit in, thought it too stuffy. Funny how tastes change."

Nervously, wondering what they would find inside, Sirius opened the door for the woman.

"Oh, thank you, dear," she said, noticing him for the first time. "Who is this, Remus?"

"My boyfriend," the boy replied without pause, making Sirius smile and cringe at the same time. "Sirius."

He waited for the screaming to start, for the woman to sling her handbag at him with all her elderly might, but instead she reached out, patted his cheek and said, "He's very handsome."

"I've always thought so," Remus agreed and gave his other cheek a pat.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Lupin," greeted the same woman who had welcomed Sirius on his previous two visits. She knew the old woman by name? "I'm afraid Lilith won't be joining you today; she is busy with a customer this afternoon."

"Oh, that's alright," Louisa waved her gloved hand dismissively. "Never much cared for her."

The young woman covered her mouth to hide the obvious smile the comment brought her. "I'll have extra chairs brought for you."

Eyes huge, Sirius watched as she reached for the thick fabric bell-pull, filling the house with the sonorous chime that he knew would assemble the house's motley courtesans. He flinched at the first set of feet he heard crossing the marble floor, the sharp 'click' of hard-soled shoes growing closer at a rate close to a jog. Would it be Atros? Or Linneus? Either would be clever enough to maintain the illusion, but it was neither.

"Hello, Madam Lupin," a man said, his voice thick with amusement. "Is it Thursday already?"

"It is, Mercutio," the old woman replied.

"My how time flies," he said and kissed the woman's hand. He turned, his eyes bright with devilish joy and stared at the two boys, "And who are these fine gentlemen?"

"My brother's grandson, Remus and his friend, Sirius," she said. "Will you be joining us for tea, Mercutio?"

The man sighed. "If only I could, but I have a client coming in shortly. I have been polishing my toys all day in preparation for it."

"Yes, your customers do love your toys," she agreed with a nod.

His eye positively exploded with glee, "That they do, but not as much as I do."

"Mercutio," a hard voice called. Atros gestured for the man to leave the old woman alone. "Mrs Lupin, I'm so pleased you've come. Your table is ready in the garden."

They followed the stern man through the house and out into the garden Sirius had only ever glimpsed from the high window of Atros's office. It was lovely and thick with the scent of roses from Linneus's carefully groomed bushes. The owner pulled a chair out for her and pushed her gently toward the table. He nodded to the two, pausing only for a moment when he looked as Sirius.

"If you need anything else, one of the ladies will attend you."

Remus settled himself comfortably in a chair and started pouring tea for his great aunt, leaving Sirius to shift fretfully, glancing at every movement for signs of someone preparing to pounce and shock the old woman into heart failure. How long had this rouse been going on? Would they call him out on visiting the brothel in the company of the old woman they had been duping for years? What did Linneus think of all this?

As if knowing he was foremost in the boy's terrified thoughts, the courtesan stepped into view and walked toward them purposefully. He was dressed as a courtesan, ears heavy with gold and jewels, his slim wrists non-existent behind the gold bangles; his shirt hung off his shoulders, suspended by straps so slim and pale it looked as if the silk hung around him by magic. How in the name of all things sane and holy had the old woman never figured out the man's profession if this was how he dressed around her? He leaned down and placed a friendly kiss on the woman's cheek, greeting her like an old friend. "I am so sorry I'm late, Louisa."

"Oh, not at all, dear," the woman smiled. "My brother's grandson, Remus and his friend, Sirius."

Linneus smiled politely at Sirius, offering no outward sign that they had ever before met, before turning his striking blue eyes to Remus. Horrified, he watched as the man studied his friend, the boy he had imagined Linneus to be as they had sex. He was sure the man knew, was certain he saw something pass across his face as he looked at the boy. When he spoke, however, it was directed at the old woman.

"Mercutio is very sorry to have missed you."

"I doubt that," Louisa laughed kindly.

"Truly," Linneus insisted and served the woman some cake. "He was very much enjoying the tales of your youth in Paris. He was very annoyed that he wouldn't get to hear how it ends. Do continue."

Louisa blushed slightly and glanced at the two boys. "Oh, I think that's a story best kept for more mature company."

The courtesan smiled encouragingly. "They're old enough, surely. How old are they?"

"Fifteen. We might come of age a bit sooner in the wizarding world, but I don't think his mother would ever forgive me."

"And how old were you when you ran away to Paris?" Linneus inquired, all innocence.

The woman clicked her tongue. "Fourteen, as you well know."

"You ran away?" Remus asked, edging forward in his seat eagerly.

"It was after the war, I was too foolish and full of myself to know any better," Louisa sighed, resigned to the fact that her brother's grandson would never stop asking her now that he had heard some of her story. "We had fled to the countryside when the Germans came. Even magic can't stop shells and bullets. We lived the dull pastoral life. I was twelve when we left the city, had seen enough to know what I was missing, so when the war ended, I jumped at the chance. I attached myself to the first soldier I could find, not caring that he was English and our family had hated them since time immemorial. I told him I was sixteen… what did two years matter when my sanity was at stake?"

As she spoke, the French accent she had lost after fifty years under the Union Flag began to emerge, rusty and raw like the feelings she was describing. Sirius listened because it was amazing that the diminished old woman before him could ever have been a fiery beauty wooing foreign soldiers and singing bawdy songs. He wondered what sort of old man he would be and imagined himself grey and hunched and telling James's great grandchildren stories of their youth.

"Where was Great-Uncle Heathcliff during all this?" Remus asked.

Louisa laughed. "Oh, I met him two month later. I don't know if I should tell you the exact method of our introduction. The stately gentleman he became would be horrified if you knew, but the young man I fell in love with would have laughed, handed you a whiskey and told you the tale himself."

"So tell me!"

"Well, I was singing in a club called Le Paon," she paused as if editing.

"Isn't that where you fell in love with _la garçonne_?" Linneus asked, his lilting voice heavy with hidden knowledge.

Sirius frowned. His French was rudimentary at best. He knew _garçon_ meant boy, but _la_ was feminine. How could Louisa have been in love with a female boy?

"Lisette," the woman said with a sigh of longing. "I was in love with her. She was the epitome of all things French and fashionable at that time – the tiniest black dresses imaginable, her hair plastered to her head, eye makeup so thick it took over her eyebrows and she had to draw on new ones, lips so full and red everyone wanted to kiss her even though she tasted like an ashtray."

"You know that from experience?" Remus asked, his eyes wide.

She looked down at her tea, which was affirmative enough for all of them.

"Aunt Louisa!"

"What?" the woman asked innocently and sipped delicately at her tea.

"But what about Uncle Heathcliff?"

She laughed delightedly. "He was in love with her, too. Everyone was. We had just finished our set and went to the bar for a drink, your Great-Uncle Heathcliff swaggered up and propositioned us – not just Lisette, but the pair of us." She giggled girlishly as the boy's mouth fell open in disbelief, clearly enjoying the shock she was giving him despite her earlier caution. "Well, we laughed and played along thinking he was drunk and too stupid to know what he was really saying, his French was so atrocious. But he kept coming back night after night asking if that would be the night he could take us to bed."

"I don't know if I want to hear anymore," Remus admitted, though he made no move to leave.

"What happened then?" Linneus encouraged, plying the woman with another cake.

"Lisette was famously fickle," Louisa shook her head. "Poor thing doesn't know what she missed. She got tired of Heathcliff's bad French and went off with some American soldier. I never heard from her again, though I swear I saw her in a Muggle moving picture a few years later. I suspect she traded up once she got to America. I thought Heathcliff would leave, too, once the prospect of having the two of us was gone, but he kept coming back and propositioning me. He got smoother about it, sliding the suggestion in after an hour or two of chatting. His French was better than he let on. Always the devil, that one. It took another month, but I finally followed him back to his hotel—"

"Would you mind skipping the details while I'm here?" Remus requested.

"Oh, fine, I'll save them for Mercutio. He's the only one around here who would appreciate them anyway," she sighed. "He took my breath away – metaphorically speaking – and brought me home to England. It took some getting used to. London was still intact after the war, but its nightlife was so different than that of Paris. It was almost as shocking as the move to Provence. I cried for home every night, but eventually I got used to it. I found I quite liked the more subdued English way, and found tea especially lovely."

"You came here went Xanthe's grandfather ran the Teahouse?" Linneus inquired. "It must seem so different to you now."

The woman nodded. "Yes, more tea, fewer whores."

Sirius spat his tea clear across the table, coating Remus in a fine mist. "You know?"

"How could I not?" she laughed at his discomfort. "I've been coming here since 1926, young man. You think I wouldn't notice that there are no tables in the grand tearoom anymore? That I'm always escorted personally by the owner to a lovely, quiet spot? Poor Margery never knew, bless her heart. I thought the jig was up when Mercutio came to tea wearing little Claret's high heels, but she was blind as a bat in the end and didn't see a thing."

Remus threw his napkin across the table. "_This_ is your whorehouse?"

"We prefer brothel," Linneus said gently. "It doesn't sound quite as crass, even if it does mean the same thing."

"Wait, so you're…"

"A courtesan, yes," the man said and watched Remus's eyes grow to never-before-achieved levels of roundness. Now that the final piece of the puzzle was there before him, it was obvious that the boy was working out the truth. His enormous eyes ran an erratic path across the man's face, going from eyes to mouth, neck to nose, back to his eyes before taking in his shoulders and body and darting back up to look into his eyes again.

"You're…"

"A courtesan. We've established that."

"…a man."

"That, too."

"Would that make you a _le fille_?" Louisa asked. "I've always wondered. They made a moniker for those girls who seemed like boys, but never bothered with one for boys who appeared as girls."

Linneus smiled gently, clearly smitten by the woman's acceptance. "I wouldn't know."

It had been a distraction enough for Remus to tear his eyes away from the man and place them instead on Sirius. The boy shifted uncomfortably under his friend's stare, unsure what he was thinking, if he was angry or thought worse of Sirius for having been with _le fille_.

He had been right. This was world-endingly bad.

_TBC_

* * *

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to anyone who has ever experienced that mind-blowing, world-ending moment when you realize that your adorable, kindly, elderly grandparents were once young, hot and not in the least bit subdued.


	3. Chapter 3: Actions Revisited

A/N: ::sniff, sniff:: Are those lemons I smell?

* * *

The Teahouse Tutor  
Or: Actions & Words Speak at the Same Volume  
Chapter 3: Actions Revisited

The awkward silence stretched out between them. The birds sang in the trees around them and the sun shone through the branches, but Sirius heard none of it, felt none of it. As Remus's eyes remained fixed on him, all he could hear was the beat of his own heart, filling his ears with a frantic and loud rush, like an ocean wave growing ever closer, threatening to wash him away. The boy's blue eyes were not hard or angry. They were as unreadable as ever, which only made him fear the worst.

A teacup slapped hard onto its saucer, shocking them all.

"Oh, dear, look at the time!" Louisa cried. "I'm supposed to be meeting Angela for supper in an hour and I have to make myself presentable." She stood with a great effort and with Remus's arm to lean on. Sirius bent to give her access to his face as she made her way around the table, kissing everyone twice on each cheek. Like the petite hurricane she was, the woman left silence and confusion in her wake as she hurried away as quickly as her seventy years would allow.

"You know, I'm always surprised she's as spritely as she is after her misspent youth. Some of her stories put even our line of work to shame," Linneus confessed after a pause. He raised the tea to his lips, seemingly oblivious to the disbelief and discomfort on faces before him. "So, would you be Moony?"

The boy's mouth fell open again. "Yes."

"Shut up," Sirius hissed.

"He talks about you," the courtesan said, sipping at his tea delicately. It was an innocent enough comment, but one that Sirius really wished the man had not made. He had no idea how Moony would take it; the boy already thought he made the man pretend to be him during sex.

Remus's reply came without pause, though his voice waivered slightly as if he was no longer convinced his words were accurate, "We're friends."

"Is that all?"

"Yes." His voice was granite, like this was a truth that could never be changed. Yes, they were friends and that was all they would ever be, but he had said differently only an hour earlier. He had told the ancient coquette something far different and Sirius would be loathed to let him forget it.

"You told Louisa I was your boyfriend," Sirius reminded angrily.

"That was before I found myself having tea at a whorehouse," Remus spat.

"That is not my fault!"

The boy shook his head sadly. "This is what's wrong with you, Padfoot. You never plan ahead. Anyone with half a brain would have sorted out that there was a reason the place is called the Teahouse, but not you. You probably just barged in, threw your Ancient and Noble name around and picked the first whore you saw."

"He was the last one, actually," Sirius muttered, flushing at how close to the truth Remus had come.

"And now I have horrible mental images of my great uncle coming onto a pair of women in a Parisian bar."

"Oi! It's not my fault your great aunt won't shut up. I didn't even drag you here. You wanted to come meet him. If it were up to me, you two would never have known the other existed let alone had tea together."

"Yet you talked of nothing but him during your time with me." It was Linneus who spoke, breaking into their growing volume with the calm voice of reason and experience. "If you truly wished that, you wouldn't have mentioned him so much… or screamed his name so loudly." Sirius flinched and felt his face heat up, but despite his distress, the man kept talking, "And I find it hard to believe you could not keep him from finding this place. I know you claimed he always knows when you're lying, but surely—"

"No, he's rubbish at it," Remus interrupted.

"He seems the sort who could deceive easily," the man commented with a quick look at the boy.

"Oh, he lies to everyone else just fine," Remus agreed. "It's just me he can't lie to."

"Strange," Linneus said and poured more tea for himself and Remus, offering the sugar bowl casually. "So what do you plan to do now?"

The boy shrugged as he stirred the sugar into his tea. "Don't know. I'm annoyed."

"But why? You knew he had visited us."

"That was before I saw you," Remus confessed, eyeing the man beside him. "I was expecting… I don't know… someone less…"

"Effeminate," Linneus finished for him. "You think this is what he wants you to be?"

It was Remus's turn to blush now. He kept his eyes locked onto his tea, offering only the smallest nod.

"Bollocks!" Sirius declared.

"You screamed my name while with him. You see me when you look at him. You see me under all that jewellery. What else am I supposed to think?"

"For someone so bloody clever you can be damned stupid sometimes, you know that, Moony?"

"You aren't helping, Sirius," Linneus said in that irritatingly calm, quiet voice.

Sirius pushed himself away from them so violently that both the chair and table toppled over. The tea service fell to the ground, shattering and spilling the last of the tea onto the stones. He glared down at the fragments thinking them a perfect representation of the mess he had made of the fragile new relationship. He knew he should apologise for this outburst and for hurting Remus, but could not bring himself to. Instead, he shouted, "What the hell do you suggest?"

Linneus stood, brushing the crumbs from his trousers. "I suggest he comes with me." He motioned for Remus to follow him and began to walk away toward the house. Remus looked between them, his face impassive as if this were merely another Arithmancy problem to be solved and not something far more complicated and important. He did not nod or frown when he looked at Sirius. He showed absolutely no emotion at all as he looked the boy over. Without a word he turned and followed the courtesan.

"Moony, don't—" Sirius said, but he had no reason for his friend not to go. He was an idiot and he knew it.

He kicked the table and stomped back into the Teahouse; Linneus and Remus were already up the stairs and gone, leaving him with nothing to do but exit the establishment or wait for his friend to come back down. It pained him to sit in the oppressive opulence, knowing that up in the man's room Remus was being given a taste of heaven. Unlike him, he probably would not think of anyone but the person he was with, he would not scream Sirius's name, would not imagine Sirius's mouth and hands on him, would not plead for Sirius to never stop.

"Would you like for me to ring the lineup bell?" a maid offered.

Sirius considered the option, wondered if it would make Moony jealous to know he was with a courtesan just a room away. Probably not. "No, I'm just waiting."

"Some tea, then?"

"Yeah," he sighed.

Tea. It had ruined his life. Worst stuff ever invented, tea. Still he drank it and waited. An hour ticked passed and still he sat. His anger faded and a dull ache took its place in his chest and gut, like his insides were being slowly wrung out by strong, merciless hands. He found a book and opened it, flipping through without seeing the words on the pages.

A body pressed into his back. It was slim, hard and yet soft, like Linneus or Moony. An arm reached across his shoulder and stopped him turning the page; it withdrew but only as far as his shoulder, where a heavy, warm hand pressed down on him as lips touched his ear. "Looks boring."

Sirius wanted to spin around and punch whoever it was that had the nerve to play with him like this. "Go away."

"But I thought you were waiting for me."

"Moony?" He turned in his chair. Remus didn't move, his face was so close Sirius could easily have kissed him. "What are you doing?"

"Being subtle," he said. "Annoying, isn't it?"

"Very. Had fun?" He forced himself to sound cavalier, as if Remus spending an hour with a whore did not gall him. Moony could always see through his lies, but that didn't mean he would roll over and show just how hurt he was.

"It was… enlightening. You owe them for the tea set and my hour," he informed the boy and strolled from the Teahouse with his hands in his pockets. Sirius glared at his backside, outraged that it had to nerve to look so good when he was trying very hard to be angry.

"Twat," he grumbled but settled his debt. He found Remus waiting on the pavement opposite, smiling up at one of the windows of the brothel. Following the boy's gaze, he saw Linneus waving down at him. "You seem to have made up."

"He's nice."

"He's paid to be nice," Sirius retorted.

"Since you were the one paying, he had no reason to be nice to me, so I know he's nice," the werewolf reasoned with a shrug.

He had no reply, so said nothing as he marched along the street toward Diagon Alley. Remus hummed a tune to himself, his arms swinging casually at his sides, his hand accidentally brushing against Sirius's thigh whenever he moved to make room for another pedestrian. It was infuriating. He couldn't tell if it was inadvertent or if he was still being intentionally annoying with his subtlety. At least when he was doing it, he had a purpose other than winding Moony up. Clearly, that was all the other boy was doing, and he eyed him with suspicion, certain he would catch him in the act.

"What?" Remus asked.

"What did you two do?"

"I was told there was courtesan-client confidentiality. If they're honouring my secrets, I'll honour theirs," he replied with a shrug.

"Oh, come off it! He's a whore. I know what you did."

"Then you've no need to ask," Remus said, adding, "And courtesan, if you don't mind."

"I do mind. I very much mind. The bloke I fancy is spending an hour in bed with a wh—_courtesan_ and I'm meant to say nothing about it?"

"You're not my boyfriend. You've no say in whose bed I visit."

"I am so!" Sirius cried. "You said it, not me. You told Louisa that I was your boyfriend. _You_ claimed _me_, not the other way round."

Remus only shook his head and continued to walk, his hand still brushing against him. They said nothing as they crossed back into the wizarding world. Sirius was sure he should stomp away angrily; after two hours of being someone's boyfriend, he had been unceremoniously dumped. He should leave in a flurry of shouts and curses, but he could not bring himself to do it. The weight of his want still pressed down on him. He _wanted_ Remus. More than he had ever wanted anything, he wanted Remus to be no one else's but his. So like a child in thrall of a travelling piper, he followed the boy as he went from shop to shop gathering his school supplies.

"Damn," the boy muttered, his long fingers brushing the empty spot on the shelf where the last of the used books had been. "I knew they'd be taken by now."

Sirius hung his head. It was adding insult to the injury he had already done his friend. He would have to pay full price for new copies of his Defence books. They never talked about it, but everyone knew his parents suffered prejudice for their son's condition; his father had been through six jobs in the past five years, each one paying less than the previous. It was completely unfair.

Without a word, Sirius took two copies of each book into his hands and carried them to the till. It was the least he could do.

"Here," he said and pushed the books into Moony's arms.

"Thank you," his friend replied, something verging on laughter in his voice.

Sirius mumbled something in response, shoved his hands deep into his pockets and shuffled after him, the weight of the books on his shoulders nothing compared to the pressure on his heart.

They walked together to the pub, Remus's arms were full of books so his hands could not brush against him, yet he still managed to continue the accidental contact. His hip and arm and shoulder bumped into him every few steps as they walked; it was even more pronounced when they entered the crowded pub, for Remus was so polite he made room for others by pressing himself into Sirius. Every time the boy's body pushed against his, Sirius had to bite his lip to keep the moan in.

'Damn him,' he thought as Remus forced himself flush against his backside. 'He is doing this on purpose.'

If that were true, his face never showed it. The werewolf offered no sly winks or knowing smirks; his mouth never deviated from the flat, emotionless line he had worn since deciding to follow Linneus into the Teahouse.

'Bastard.'

It only got worse as the summer came to a close. Unlike Sirius, Remus made no effort to force his attentions onto the other boy. Where the Animagus had intentionally manufactured reasons to spend time with him, the werewolf was happy to keep their meetings as irregular as they would normally have been. Yet for all the seeming indifference to spending time with him, when they were together, Remus touched him far more often than seemed normal. His hands lingered on Sirius' shoulders. His lips brushed his ears as he took to speaking in low tones no one else would hear. His body spent more time against his than it did anywhere else. It was maddening.

As tormenting as it was, Sirius knew the train ride to school would be worse. He spent three sleepless nights imagining the chaos the boy's behaviour would have on their formerly-tight-knit group. What would James say when he caught Remus sitting so close his thigh was flush with his? What would Peter do when he caught him leaning so close that his tongue actually brushed Sirius's ear when he whispered?

He dragged himself to Platform 9¾ on the first of September, wishing invisibility or death on himself.

"You look like shit," James said and slapped him hard on the back.

"Thanks," he muttered. "Where's Moony?"

"No idea," replied his friend. "Oh, wait. There he is." He waved his hand high in the air to draw the other boy's attention. It took almost no time at all for him to cross the crowded platform; students parted before him as they never had before.

"Uh, Moony…" James said quietly. "Did you announce your furry little problem over the summer or something? Why is everyone giving you so much space?"

The boy positively smirked. It took all Sirius's will power to keep his knees locked in the standing position.

"Sign of respect," he said and pointed to the glittering badge on his chest.

"You, a Prefect?" James laughed. "They might as well have put Padfoot in charge of a nunnery!"

Remus just grinned and turned his eyes to Sirius, who flushed. "I suspect the nuns would be perfectly safe with Padfoot in charge. But I have to go to a Prefect meeting at the front of the train and I think I'll have rounds. I'll see you lot later."

They sat and joked together for the ride, planning pranks and wondering how much they would be able to get away with now that they had a Prefect in their ranks. James seemed to think it a grand joke and that they would easily persuade Moony to get them into even more places in the castle, perhaps even into other House's common rooms or the teacher's lounge.

"Come off it, Prongs," Sirius grumbled. "He'll never go for it."

"What is wrong with you today?" James demanded, throwing the empty package from his chocolate frog across the compartment at him. "You have been moping since we got here. I'm sorry if Moony's off being responsible."

"Like I care what Moony's off doing," he said and pushed himself off the seat, glaring down his nose at his friend. He did care. He cared too much and he knew it. He cared that Moony chose to follow Linneus. He cared that Moony was waging a war of subtlety on him and he was losing with every seemingly-unintended touch. He cared. And he hated himself for it because he had fucked up royally, and Moony would never forgive him.

Stomping out into the narrow corridor, he groaned and considered running back into his compartment. Remus was there, telling off a fourth year, looking tall and cool and more authoritative than he had ever looked before. He was always one of the Marauders when he was with them, never a leader, just a bloke, laughing and playing along; when he tried to talk them out of a bad idea, he never had as much volume or charisma as James or Sirius, so they never listened. Without them overshadowing him, he was fantastic, commanding, a young man to be obeyed despite his shabby robes and how soft-spoken he tended to be.

Sirius stared at him in naked wonder, wishing more than ever that Remus belonged to him. As he watched, Remus turned to look at him, eyes flashing defiantly.

"Oi!" he shouted, and strode purposefully down the tight space.

He froze as the Prefect approached, waiting for the abuse to start, for the power of his position to have given Remus the boost he needed to finally tell Sirius off for what he had done. The curses did not come. The werewolf wasn't even looking at him, he was looking past him as if he were not even there.

"Hold it right there," he commanded, shoving Sirius aside roughly. The impact with the wall hurt. He was certain the strength in Remus's hands left bruises on his back as he kept him pressed against it. The friction of their bodies rubbing tightly against one another had certainly burned him. It felt slow and torturous, though the contact had lasted barely a second as Moony pushed past him to reach the second year Hufflepuff.

Sirius leaned against the wall, week-kneed and panting.

'I won't last first term,' he realised as he watched the boy stride away from him.

He was wrong. He didn't even last the feast. His brain strayed to that brief but fiery contact with Moony every time he looked at him. He felt his face heat and his trousers constrict whenever the boy so much as glanced his way. James and Peter eyed him with concern, thinking him either ill or bitterly jealous of Remus's new authority.

"Get over it, Padfoot," James advised as they left the common room for the night.

"Wish I could," he replied sullenly, not daring to look over at Remus. He fell into bed. The scarlet curtains used to be such a comfort to him, especially on the first night at school; they were tangible proof that he was free of his mother and Grimmauld Place for the next ten months. They held no such comfort for him tonight, because he knew he was not free. He was a prisoner, not to family and obligation, but to Remus.

His dreams only confirmed how lost he was to his friend. As he slept, he dreamed of Remus crossing silently to his bed, climbing behind the curtain and claiming his mouth. He did not have the subtle undertone of chocolate Sirius expected he would, but the feeling of his tongue possessing his mouth was too wonderful to be concerned about such alterations to his imaginings. He did not kiss as Sirius thought he would either. He was not delicate and gentle like Linneus. He was strong and dominating, forceful in a way that had him moaning. It only got more surprising. Remus bit his lip, hard enough to make him cry out, and he kept biting him, nipping at his jaw, his neck, his chest. Each time he soothed the pained skin with a flick of his tongue and a kiss. The courtesan had not made him feel like this, like his skin was tingling and on fire and hypersensitive. It made him moan again, loud and long.

He practically screamed when he felt the warm, moist mouth close around him.

"Moony," he cried, tangling his fingers into the boy's hair and bucking against him. Remus was strong in this dream, though. With one hand, he held Sirius down, keeping him from having any say in the pace of his release.

Sirius whined and tried to make him go faster, but nothing he said or did had any affect. He writhed against his pillow, gripping the curtains so tightly he tore them from the rods; the scarlet fabric fell away, showing him the dark room with the two sleeping boys. He gasped and stared across the room at them. If this was a dream, he would never have wanted either James or Peter to be here as witnesses. He looked back to Moony, watching those blue eyes, bright with mischief and understanding, and he knew. This was real.

Knowing that he was not dreaming, he was terrified that James or Peter would wake and start screaming their disgust, but he could not hold his moans in. Remus was too good, his tongue too talented, his lips too tight around him. He exploded, crying the boy's name even as he tried to will himself silent.

"Oh Merlin, I'm dead," he groaned quietly. "I'm dead. They'll kill me."

"Kind of hard to kill anyone in your sleep," Remus whispered against his ear, his tongue caressing the shell before diving deep into the canal, tickling the tiny hairs.

He groaned at the strange feeling. "They'll hear. They'll wake up and kill me."

"Not tonight they won't," he said. "Maybe tomorrow night, or the next."

Sirius looked at him then at James. The other boy was still asleep, mouth hanging open and drool trickling down his chin as it only ever did when he was in his deepest slumber. "Did you…?"

"Spike their dinner with Dreamless Sleep? Why, yes, I did. Aren't I clever?"

"Very."

"Want to see what other clever things I can do?"

Sirius nodded eagerly.

"Are you sure?"

"Moony, please. I want you."

"Careful what you wish for," Remus said darkly and shoved him onto his stomach, pushing him into the mattress.

He had no idea who this person was. This wasn't the Moony he knew, calm, deliberate, thoughtful Moony, who planned for every contingency and never succeeded in convincing him against a bad idea. This boy was neither gentle nor soft-spoken. He spoke quietly, but there was a deliciously dangerous edge to his voice. He had been an idiot to think Moony would be anything like Linneus. Remus was a werewolf, the Alpha of his solitary pack of one. No one could dominate him, and he made a point of proving that now. His movements were harsh and almost painful as he worked his fingers into him; they were slick with saliva, but it still burned to have them scissoring progressively wider, stretching him as nothing ever had.

"This is really going to hurt," Remus warned in a ragged whisper even as he cast a spell to make his path easier.

Sirius couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't do anything but scream. The spell eased most of the pain, leaving only the single most pleasurable thing he had ever felt in his short life. He screamed Moony's name so loudly his throat ached. Words tumbled onto his pillow unbidden, promises he fully intended to keep so long as Remus never stopped. He begged and pleaded with the boy, offering up everything he had.

The werewolf did not respond in words but in actions. With every cry for more, he pushed harder. With every promise, his thrusts were more forceful. He claimed Sirius as his own, marking him with teeth and nails and deeds. Even if that was not what he meant, it was what Sirius felt because no one else would ever be able to make him feel this way. He screamed the boy's name one last time before falling flush against the bed, spent and breathless.

Remus pulled him close, hugging him against his scarred chest and chuckling softly.

It took some time, but Sirius finally found his voice, harsh as it was from screaming, "What?"

"I can see why you wanted to go to a whorehouse your first time," Remus said, drawing lazy patterns in the sweat of his shoulder. "If anyone else heard you begging like that, your reputation would be shot to shit."

Sirius's face flushed indignantly. He turned and opened his mouth to protest, but Remus caught it before he could speak, taking advantage of the wide opening to sweep his tongue across the boy's palate. It was more than enough to shut him up.

"It's a good thing no one else will ever hear you but me," he commented and pulled him possessively closer.

"Git."

"I think you mean 'Oh, dear Merlin, you brilliant fucking werewolf, I love you, oh god oh god'," he quoted with a devastating smirk. "Linneus said you talked a lot."

Sirius groaned. "Don't bring that up. Please?"

He shrugged and sniggered silently. "Whatever you say, Pads, but nothing happened. We just talked about you."

Oddly, that did not make Sirius feel better. He wondered what the courtesan had told him, if he remembered every incoherent promise he had made and let Remus know precisely what he had said while in the throes of passion, imagining this boy's mouth and body where that man's had been. He shivered at the prospect of Moony knowing all that.

"What… what did he say?"

Remus was quiet for a long minute as his hands played across his skin, exploring every muscle and crevice and making Sirius grow aroused despite his anxiety. "That you love me. Was he wrong?"

"No. Was that all?"

"You're not going to ask if I love you?"

"Do you?" Sirius asked.

"Very much. I love the noises you make when I take you in my mouth. I love how you nearly faint when I shove you against a wall. I love this spot," his long finger danced lightly across the line where his leg and groin met, sending a bolt of lightning through him. "But to answer your previous question, he also suggested some turnabout."

"The subtlety thing?" Sirius groaned.

"It worked, didn't it?" Remus smiled and kissed him. "I think I owe that man a gift… on you."

His mouth fell open again. "Since when am I your money bag?"

"Since you have more money than I do and since you started this mess," he said flatly, though his eyes were filled with mirth. "What should we get him?"

"Dirt."

"That's hardly nice, Sirius."

"No, he likes roses. We could steal some of Sprout's magic dirt or something. He'd love it, I swear."

Remus eyed him with uncertainty, but nodded after a pause. "I make the plan, though. Your plans are rubbish."

"I already told you that you were in charge of that."

"You've never said that."

"Yeah, I di—Oh, wait, no, that's when I was pretending he was you," Sirius said, oblivious to the way Remus froze at the mention of their roleplaying. He shrugged as well as he could inside the other boy's arms. "Whatever, I'll tell you now. You are absolutely brilliant, smarter than the rest of us put together. You are in charge of all prank-planning from this point forward. I will not have my boyfriend being undervalued."

Remus's uncomfortable frown vanished. "Thank you. I'll see about getting your friend some dirt."

"He's your friend, too."

"Yes, he's very nice," the werewolf agreed.

"He is."

The End.

* * *

A/N: So there is it, my first ever properly slash story. Not sure how well I pulled it off. Good, bad, indifferent?


End file.
